Dang. I've got this scene in my head, and it's really, really working for me, but I just can't get what I see in my head onto paper in anyway that comes close, and it's really becoming quite frustrating. It's just a small moment, a small sexy moment, but one of the few playful, angst free moments between the characters, but it just won't get itself down on paper. Dang.
And now I've got workmen and buttcrack all around me so it really, really won't work now. Grizzle.
Almost there with the damn fic. Just stuck (mainly) on the bloody haunted house scene. Anyone know of any good haunted house fillums I can rip off, because I've got nothing, and I am no longer too proud to steal. Dammit. I'd cut the scene entirely, but it's an important scene because the wee ghostie gets a good look at our hero and runs away screaming, it's supposed to be a tick under the 'Paul is evil' column (I've already done the 'Paul is good' and 'Paul is nuts' scenes, as required). No, I'm not resolving that issue, that's on ongoing is he or isn't he thing that's fun to play with. I just can't get that scene right, or the little sexy scene I was trying to write. Sigh.
Double sigh. I need more Skeet in my life.
I wish I was at home watching tv. Or sleeping. Or writing. Or reading comics (nearly out of DD, ack).
I was so sleepy I had trouble staggering off the bus last night and this morning. TV last night passed in a blur. I was sorry to see Artz go boom on Lost, though I knew he must, since he had B Team stamped so clearly on his forehead, and he knew it, which made him clearly expendable. That's what made it so awful, that he knew his fate as a minor character. It's so much worse when they know. At least it was quick. Alias was more of the same, and snoozeworthy, though I liked M. Vartan putting on the pommy accent. I was mostly snoozy through Fargate but I'd seen it before, the Aeryn vs Daniel one. Weird, pointless, yet amusing. Danny, you ain't no John Crichton, and this will no doubt become obvious if we move into S9, or was this just a tease, EC7? Where did SGA go? Oh, I'm so dozey and confused, so I am.
It'd probably help if I watched back my tapes sometime soon. That's what I'm doing tomorrow. Sure, I'll get up at 4am, my bed will no longer be warm, soft and snuggly but cold, hard, all sharp corners, spikes, lumps and crumbs, but I don't care. This has been a week, and I ain't moving, no sir. I got me more than a week's worth of tv to watch and I mean to do it.
Well, that's the plan. I'll be swinging that pick and shovel again, instead, just you watch (insert Coen brothers film type chain gang spiritual here).
Well, we never did get to yum cha but we did end up at the coffee shop across the road, one last hurrah before things get nasty as they break up the dept. It was vaguely work related as we talked about hilarious misunderstandings caused by words meaning something else entirely in other dialects. It all ended up with H saying she didn't want to see some twat in a fanny pack, and, well, you had to be there I suppose, but we were howling. One of these days I tell you why 'fanny bag' is something that causes howls of laughter down here, ditto the phrase 'rooting for the home team'. Foul mouthed buggers, them Yanks - grin.
Speaking of which, I was so very bemused that dearest Al revealed he'd spent two years in Oz. No wonder nothing in Deadwood turns a hair on his head. The Gem ain't nothing on my local, I assure you. Snort, wheeze. Al's Oz adventures - can we have a book, please?
I was also late home on account of having to battle the triple headed hydra that is one editorial committee. Think of some very Harryhausen she-beast and me with just my tiny bronze age sword and shield trying to fend them off as they snap and hiss with their sharp teeth and wild, snaky hair. Oh yeah, something very much like. Snap. Hiss. Snarl.